Our House
by ColorCoated
Summary: It's not everyday your boyfriend buys you a house or that you get to be the center of attention. On Rogue's big day, Remy shows her the best part about moving in together. *Sequel to Box of Chocolates and Flying South*


A special shout out to Warrior-princess1980 whose PM inspired this sucker. It should've have been finished much sooner than this, but I was so unhappy with the first draft (Rogue was all insecure which is the opposite of what I want from her in this min-arc) so it took a while to get it right.

This is the sequel to _Box of Chocolates_ which is the sequel to _Flying South_, but can be read independently.

_Our House_ is a bit more steamy than I originally anticipated, but since it's twice the length of _Box of Chocolates_, I guess that explains it.

* * *

**Our House**

I know where we're going. Sure, Remy is all keyed up because he thinks I've never been there before, but I have. Curiosity got the best of me and I walked through the empty house almost two months ago. Whatever, he doesn't need to know that.

Even though I've seen it before, it's the anticipation of what this night holds. I haven't seen Remy since Valentine's Day and here he is now, looking sexy, and metaphorically trying to sweep me off my feet.

My heart is beating faster than it has in a long time, and I scoot my body closer to his, taking up those two inches that were left between us when I climbed on the back of his bike.

My thighs are on wrapped around either side of his hips and I can feel myself trying to squeeze my legs together, feeling the hard sides of his muscular body. My toes, comfortable in my brown leather cowboy boots, bump the rubber heels of his thick motorcycle boots. My arms are wrapped tightly around his lean waist.

I should probably be embarrassed; I mean my dress is so short and so tight, that putting my legs around Remy has caused it to ride up to the middle of my thighs. It's probably indecent. I don't care, though. If anybody wants to get a good eye-full of leg, that's fine with me. My body is so close to Remy's that they can't see anything else.

His short black leather jacket is open -stupid when you're riding a motorcycle- but I love it. I press one hand flat against his lower stomach, and I can feel his abdominals muscles through his gray dress shirt.

I shiver in anticipation or excitement or both. I don't even know. All I know is that I want this- want him- more than I have in a long time.

"Almost dere!" He shouts over his shoulder but I can barely hear him, the helmet he brought for me is too thick. I would much prefer the one I usually wear when we ride. However, that's really the only thing I would change about this moment.

I hold his waist tighter, and my fingers are able to find his waistband. I have one arm firmly around him, and the other is around him as well, but I let that hand explore. I'm able to untuck the front of his shirt, and ever so slightly rest my fingertips inside the waistband of his black dress pants (which looked surprisingly sexy with his leather boots and jacket - only Remy could pull that off).

The bike doesn't even so much as swerve (Remy's quite good at working under pressure), but with my body pressed against his, I can feel him tense the slightest bit. It makes me smile: he wants this as much as I do.

Driving through a wooded area, he turns off the main road onto a smaller one. Thank goodness it's been paved.

As he makes the turn that will lead to our new house - the one where we're supposed to live in it together!- I can't help but wonder: How did I get here?

* * *

"Turn right in .5 miles."

Yeah, okay. Turn right in the middle of nowhere? Because that makes a whole lot of sense. Thanks for nothing, GPS. Good job being a bunch of floating satellites or something.

Lame.

"Turn right in 500 feet."

500 feet? Really?

I slow down so I can veer out all the windows of my Camaro and look for the crazy turn my GPS is instructing me to make.

Oh, I'm sorry did I just say Camaro? What I meant was vintage Camaro. Perfectly restored vintage Camaro. Heh, that's right.

It's an early graduation gift from Logan. I'd seen Logan working on her -and even helped a few times- over the past year that I've been living at the mansion. Apparently he bought it when I just went away to college and had been working to restore it ever since.

Little did I know he was restoring it for me.

Yeah, Logan legally adopted me years ago when I was around 17 (and all caked head to toe in goth makeup- be happy you missed it), but he's a man of few words. Sitting low in this perfectly polished, leather encased bucket seat, it's easy to know that he cares about me.

Not that I'm getting all mushy on you, because I'm not, it's just the fact that Logan super charged the engine so I can go way above street legal speeds is pretty legit.

Word.

Anyway, the GPS is telling me to turn and there's no road to turn on to. Seriously.

However there is some gravel. Granted, if the sucker isn't paved, then I don't consider it a road, but it's the only turn off of the street so that's got to be it. Right?

I take the turn, and start lamenting the fact that the gravel dust is going to dirty up my recent wax job.

Wax job on the car that is. I am way overdue for a personal wax job, if you know what I mean. There is no way that it even remotely resembles a landing strip anymore.

Don't judge me.

I'm surprised to see all the tall trees on either side of the thin gravel rode. I didn't realize that there are such forested areas not too far from the city. Yeah it's a fifteen minute drive to the nearest train station, to catch a train that will take forty minutes to get me into the city, but something tells me it's going to be worth it.

The road curves and I still can't see anything more than the giant pine trees surrounding either side. Wherever I'm going must be pretty private, and I like that.

Not that I don't want neighbors or anything, because I wouldn't mind them, but I really just don't like people.

The road makes one more hard curve, and I find myself staring up a hill at the most gorgeous place I've ever seen.

"Arriving at your destination on the left."

I drive slow, trying to take it all in. Trying to take this moment in.

See, what you might not know is that I have a new house.

... A new house that I have never seen before and don't know anything about.

A new house that my on again/off again boyfriend/lover bought for us and handed me a key to it about a month and a half ago.

And that's all I know.

That being said, it looks amazing.

Dark brown brick with tan colored shutters, two stories, sitting comfortably at the top of a hill, with a large black iron rod fence surrounding the large yard and property.

I hit the brake pad, stopping completely to take it in.

I have a fence.

I have a yard.

I'm getting a dog.

Or a tiger.

* * *

Remy's pulling into the driveway. It's dark out, but the house- our house- is as beautiful as it was two months ago.

He pulls straight into the garage - which looks huge but I can't see much of it because the only light on is the one directly above us. I can see Remy's two other bikes, a Harley and a Ducati, parked to out left, between us and the wall of the garage.

I only loosen my grip on his body when Remy cuts the engine, however I rub my fingers against the elastic of his boxer briefs before removing them from the waist of his pants.

I wait for Remy to dismount before removing my helmet. He grabs it and hangs his and mine on pegs on the wall.

Aw, his and hers helmets. How quaint. Beats the pants off matching robes, I guess.

He's back, standing next to me, looking down at me seeing as I was too busy staring at his ass while he walked away from me to even get off the bike.

I watch his eyes as I dismount, they're glued to the visible skin of my legs. He's looking at me like I'm a piece of meat.

The garage floor is softer than I expected, there's definitely some kind of epoxy coating on top of the concrete.

I can feel the sexual tension bearing down on me like something tangible, and the fact that his eyes are looking me up and down and he hasn't said anything are just making it worse.

I take a step towards him, and grab the edge of his shirt that I had untucked earlier. I slip my fingers slightly under it and bring them around his body, untucking it all.

I look up and catch his eyes, which are shining bright. As his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, I feel every muscle in my lower stomach quiver.

* * *

I drive slowly up the hill, my window down, looking at all the green. The house is at the top of a low sloping hill, but luckily there's a long cement paved driveway that leads towards the garage.

The garage looks surprising large, considering that the house is surprisingly modest sized. You might not know my "boyfriend" or whatever he is, but the guy has a tendency to be a bit over the top.

And by "a bit", I mean way over. (I'm sure it's easy to do when your pockets are as deep as the Mississippi.)

I was worried what monstrosity was waiting for me. Sure the house looks large, but "small suburb large" not "mansion large." It may sound ridiculous, but it's a relief.

Everything is green, too. It might be because we're in the middle of spring, but really: green grass, green plants, a surround of large green trees.

And, be still my cowboy-boot-loving-heart, there's a large wooden porch wrapping around the front of the house to the side. At first glance, it's got more modern architecture, but that porch adds a bit of country.

It's perfect.

Well, perfect as long as the pizza places deliver way out here at a house that doesn't have a real road leading up to it.

And I'm not talking Domino's or any of that shit. It's Papa Tony's or nothing.

Do you think Remy would be willing to buy us a house closer to my favorite pizza joint? Is that too much to ask?

I park in the driveway, and walk towards the door, pulling a key out of my back pocket.

That's right, just a key. No key ring, no key chain, nothing else. You'd think the guy could've popped it on some kind of keychain. He should know that I'm notorious for losing stuff.

See, I got the key on Valentine's Day. Cliche right? And they guy that gave it to me just casually mentioned he had bought us a house.

Ridiculous, amIright?

I was overwhelmed at the time and I'm pretty sure that the kisses and follow-up blow job I gave him showed my gratitude, but since then I've had some time to actually think about it.

It's hard to describe what kind of relationship I have with Remy. I know you're making some assumption, seeing as we were together on the Hallmarkyest of holidays, but we're not like that.

Remy is gorgeous, and practically a Demigod. He is amazing at exactly two things: one of them being a total hellcat in bed.

And that's where we've spent most of our time. Seriously. As soon as I run into the guy, it's like I can hear a stopwatch start clicking and I only have so much time left until I can get under his sheets and under him.

It's freaking fantastic.

I'm not complaining- far from it actually. What Remy and I have, its kind of perfect. And if part of that is me panting and calling out his name? So be it.

We can't keep our hands off of each other.

But the house brings all kinds of wrenches into the mix.

Like, Is he moving from Louisiana to move in here? Are we still seeing other people? Can I bring other guys home to the bed that I'll be sharing with him? Will he bring other women home? Am I supposed to be upset if he does?

(Yes, yes, I'm sure all of you nay-sayers are shocked and appalled that I wouldn't be upset, but think about this: it could totally work out in my favor. Yeah, say whatever you want, but I'm calling your bluff. I cannot be the only one who has threesome fantasies.)

See, these are the things I don't know. I'm not upset that I don't know them, I'm just curious how our dynamic will change.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm in love with the guy, but that doesn't mean he's going to make a good roommate.

See, what Remy and I have has always been spontaneous. I never labeled it or named it. We were happy, so did it matter what we were to each other?

It all started after I turned 18 and graduated high school. It's not like we were "dating exclusively" to name it, but we weren't seeing anyone else. We didn't even consciously decide not to see other people; it's just when you're sneaking away to hook up with each other every day or every other day for the better part of a year, then you really just don't have time for anyone else.

We continued on and off for a good two years after that. And when we were more "off" than on, I dated other people. I'm sure Remy is well aware of this. The guy knows everything. I stayed in New York and he moved back to his hometown.

Then a year went by and we ran into each other. It was just like old times. It was fantastic.

He was gone after a week, which is fine. He travels a lot for work.

Then a year and a half later, I took a little trip to New Orleans. No, I didn't go to seek Remy out. I didn't even know if he'd be in town. I just had a sexy little Christmas present for him and knew I could drop it off on my holiday. I didn't expect to see him - the French Quarter has ears and I knew if I dropped off my little brown - paper wrapped parcel with anyone on the street and whispered Remy's name, I knew that it would get to him.

Oh, sexy little gift, you ask? Lets just say, I got all dolled up in very little clothing and had a very good photographer.

You're probably wondering why I was giving a gift to a guy I hadn't seen in over a year? Yeah, well that's what you've gotta understand about that Swamp Rat and myself: it doesn't really matter how long we're a part, we're just kind of connected.

Always.

Oh and you're also probably wondering why it was such a steamy gift? Well, if you saw my body, you'd understand.

I look freaking amazing.

And I have giant boobs.

* * *

"Rogue," His voice is smooth in that dark chocolate kind of way.

I can tell he's about to say something, although I'm not sure what.

His eyes are saying something, they're full of promises that I'm not ready for. For a minute, the look in his eyes is about us, and there's wonder and love there.

For a minute, it's not about sex.

I give him a coy smile and bring my hands back to the front of his body. I slowly slide them up the flat, well-defined planes of his stomach. My fingers tease higher, and as I reach his pectorals, I purposely brush my fingertips over one of his nipples.

As soon as my fingertips brush over that sensitive bit of flesh, his eyes transform. Gone is the look of affection and its replaced with one made of pure carnal heat. It sets me on fire.

Before I can breathe, his hand is on the back if my head, digging into my braid and, frankly, probably sexing up my hair.

He drags my mouth up to meet his and greets me with his open mouth and his tongue.

As his fingers of the opposite hand are slowly, teasingly dragging their way down my back, he nips at my bottom lip. Then he sucks on my lower lip, his teeth slightly tugging before he nips at my chin.

I can feel heat building in my core, which Remy will no doubt notice whenever he finally gets my panties off.

I hear him groan and he pulls my body closer and tighter against him. I melt into his muscled frame and wrap my arms around his neck, partly to be closer to him and partly to give me more leverage with my lips against him. It's hard enough when you have to stand on the tips of your toes to kiss.

His body reads mine like a sort of dirty book. Tongue rubbing against mine, his hands push my jacket to the floor and then tease their way quickly down my body.

As he reaches the sides of my hips, his hands squeeze me tightly I can feel him briefly press his groin into me; with our difference in height, I feel his erection hard against my stomach.

I can't repress the shudder that takes over my body as I long for that hardness to be somewhere else.

* * *

I used my key in the front lock before slipping it back into my pocket. The first thing I notice is all the hard wood mocha-colored floors. I glance up to look at the staircase heading upwards, and see the crown molding wrapping around every room.

The entry way is painted a light brown, and as I step into the adjoining room, which appears to be the kitchen, I notice the brown continues.

The entryway was empty, as is the kitchen, well, with the exception of the stainless steel appliances. The fridge is ridiculously large, and still wrapped in plastic. Come to think of it, there's plastic on the dishwasher, microwave, and oven too.

The cabinets are the same mocha shade as the wood floors, and I run my fingertips along the dark granite counter. I can't lie, it really is rather nice.

And it seems sturdy, which is important. I'm going to be honest here: I don't cook. Which clearly means I plan on using the kitchen counter for one thing... Although, now that you mention it, I guess it could involve food.

There's a large carpeted room connected to the kitchen, which I can only assume will be the living room, with its large glass windows, fireplace, and open floor plan. The walls are painted leaf green, and I realize the whole house seems to be painted in earth tones, which have always been my favorite. Interesting.

It's weird to see a house without anything in it, but I can kind of picture us living here. Kind of.

Truthfully, I can picture myself living anywhere as long as its not too far from Dunkin Donuts.

I leave the living room, and head back towards the stairs, passing a bathroom and a small room that is probably an office.

I open a door to the left: coat closet.

I open a door to the right: stairs.

So this place has a basement? Bring it on.

At the bottom of the stairs, to the left is a carpeted empty room. Maybe I'll make that Kitty's space.

To the right, I step on the floor and feel it give a little bit. It's rubber coated, and the walls are floor to ceiling mirrors. There's a small bathroom with a full size showed connected to the far wall. I guess we're going to have a very nice home gym...

Or Remy built us sex room.

Either way, it'll probably be one heck of a work out.

Upstairs is nice, plush carpet, green walls, four bedrooms that each have their own bathroom.

Not bad, Remy, not bad.

* * *

His hands quickly make their way around my hips, under my dress, and under my rear. His fingers are like fire against my skin and I can feel them tracing the edge of the backside of my panties.

Knowing what he's going to do, I jump slightly when he lifts me.

As soon as he picks me up, our bodies line up in that perfect way, his hardness against my heat. My face is buried into his shoulder as I moan out loud, the same time he let's out a low curse.

I need more.

I wrap my legs around his waist as tightly as I can, crossing my cowboy boots at the ankles. When my arms and legs around that tall, hard body, I have more leverage, and I immediately start grinding my body into his. It feels so good. He's so hard.

I push my pelvis into his, pushing as hard as I can, rubbing my heat against his hardness over and over. The feeling is pure ecstasy and I just realize I've been moaning the whole time. I didn't realize until his teeth tug on my swollen bottom lip again.

He's cursing, but I don't mind. His filthy mouth is a turn on in more ways than one.

Despite the fact that I'm using everyone muscle in my body to grind us together, I don't worry for one second about him dropping me. Sure, I'm relatively small with my 5'4" stature, but I'm heavy - unbelievably heavy. That's what happens when you're pretty solidly muscle.

Luckily, Remy is a variable delight of full corded, hot hard strength. (That man can do such wicked things with his lower body strength that you wouldn't believe it.) He has no problems lifting me, carrying me, spinning me for hours on end.

"Merde," I hear him curse again and judging by the jerked movements of his hips, I can guess why.

Gawd, I want him.

He's frustrated, I can tell. It's not that he doesn't love me riding his body -he does- its just with his arms around me and his lips locked against my collarbone, he's not getting to be as aggressive as he wants.

Trust me, when you've know the Cajun as long as I have, you know him. We've spent many nights together, worshipping each other's bodies and making long, languid love.

That isn't what this is.

This is more of the four-letter F word variety. Not that I mind, it's so hot and I'm so hot and if I don't climax soon, I may lose my mind. I want Remy any way I can have him, quick and dirty or long and languid.

The man is an expert on both.

He lifts his head, and I seem his lust-clouded eyes looking around for something. There's a moment of the gleam of razor sharp focus I'm used to seeing, and then He steps forward and slams me into the garage wall.

I can feel where my back hits the concrete and it almost stings and I know for sure it will bruise, but the force of which I'm pushed into the wall, mirrors the force in which he presses his pants covered hardness between my thighs, against the wetness in my panties and that's all I care about.

What can I say? Sometimes I like it a little rough, and he knows it.

Oh, its so good. So good. I didn't realize I was moaning out loud, but I catch the rasp of my voice as I feel my stomach drop and the muscles quiver there.

"Please, Remy, please," I'm begging now. I want him so badly. I need him so badly.

I feel him lift me up higher against the wall of the garage, and I feel him press his face against my cleavage, as his eye-line is with the neckline of my dress.

He's got one arm around my neck, between the wall and myself. We learned a long time ago that it's the gentlemanly thing to do in this situation - we've been in this place before, and fast thrusting causes quite the large bump on the back of your head when it keeps hitting the wall.

I feel him reach down and I can hear the sound of his zipper being pulled down and the rustling of fabric.

I feel his hand between my legs and it makes me beg so loud that I'm sure I should be embarrassed. He rubs me through my panties for just a minute and my whole body shudders as my hips rock towards him. I feel those calloused fingers pull my panties to the side.

Holy hell, we're doing this with our clothes on.

How is it possible for sex to be so hot when you're not even naked?

He's positioning him self and I'm pretty sure that I'm demanding him to do it all ready.

There's no preparation. I don't have time for that. I need him now, and I'm so wet that it doesn't even matter.

And not soon enough do I feel that glorious hand leave me, that it's his manhood buried deep inside me.

* * *

Speaking of my Swamp Rat, I wonder what he would do if he knew I was here. He has no idea. If he knew, he probably would've had the sucker furnished by now.

I haven't exactly mentioned the whole "moving in thing" that much.

Sure, I've talked to him since February. Well, I mean, if sexting counts.

It's just moving is a big deal. I'm not going to mention it, and I figure he can just work out the logistics.

I'm ready to move out of the Mansion, ready to move away from "home." Logan wants me to go, so does the Prof (well maybe not if they knew where I was thinking about going). See, I have certain family obligations that I can't ignore, that's why Kitty visits the mansion every weekend, and I'll do the same once I move out. But I still want to go and "be on my own" as they say. And Logan wants that too - he wants me to have a life outside my family duties. I've worked hard for it, the five years of college weren't for nothing.

It's just a big change, you know?

And I don't want anything about Remy and I to change.

(With the exception of positions if you get my drift.)

Our spontaneity has always been what made us so good together. No labels, nothing definitive, but a text telling me he wants me or a chance meeting? Those things we can do.

But living together? Eating breakfast with him, kissing him goodbye before I leave for work, making dinner together, and then getting under the sheets and making love half the night until we fall asleep and I have to do it all over again the next day?

Doesn't it seem just a bit too domestic?

On the other hand, waking up next to Remy LeBeau's naked body every day is a definite plus (a huge, practically 9 inch plus).

I head down stairs and towards the front door, glancing over my shoulder at the living room one more time. The fire place is gorgeous, all surrounded by dark marble tile and a thick wooden mantel.

I lock the front door behind me and head back to the beautiful car that's waiting for me in the driveway.

Although, I doubt this will be the last time I see the place.

* * *

"Mon dieu," He grunts as he thrusts back into me. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to my chin before burying his face back into my cleavage.

I shiver as I look down to watch him. With my body braced against the wall, and his arm around my lower waist, he has the perfect position. He rolls his hips away from me as he pulls out slightly, and the he thrusts into me hard and deep.

My head turns to the side and his teeth nip softly at my neck, and I see the long rack holding our motorcycle helmets, with our helmets are at the far end.

"Remy," I moan slightly as I feel him increase his pace. I can see the sweat along his hairline and I tilt my hair down to kiss him there. I drag my tongue alone the line between his hair and his forehead. I've never done that before, but it feels right and I can taste the sweat on his skin and I'm on fire.

I reach my left arm away from my body, grasping at the wooden pegs on the garage wall. I use it for leverage, and thrust my hips up the meet his.

He curses. I moan.

I don't think either of us can last much longer.

* * *

I look in the mirror across from me. I'm not going to lie; I'm a little bit excited. I feel like I've been waiting for this for a very long time.

To my left, Kitty squeals, "This is going to be the best day ever!"

I roll my eyes but I can't fight the smile that's settling on my face, "Yah know what, Kit? Yah might be right."

Kitty doesn't live in the mansion anymore, she's got an apartment in the city, but she insisted on being here today, being with me. Apparently she didn't want to miss one second of my big day.

She's grinning, "You don't think that dress is too sexy for graduation day?"

I give her a flat look, but I know she's teasing me. She knows that I'm meeting a certain Cajun after the ceremony. She also knows he bought me - I mean bought us - a house. The whole idea makes me giddy.

"Too sexy? Don't forget Ah'll be wearing that awful gown."

"Oh, riiiight." She's still giggly. The way she acts, you'd think she has more of a thing for my Cajun/Boyfriend/Lover/Person than I do.

Too sexy? I look back at my reflection in the red dress I bought for this day.

Just sexy enough.

I'd be lying if I said that sexy clothes didn't boost my confidence, because they surely do. Trust me, the things I put my body through are payment enough for having it look as good as it does. As a teenager who had to cover up, I relish the freedom of showing skin; it makes me feel hot, it makes me feel sexy.

Not to mention the guy I mentioned - the one who bought us a house? Well I haven't seen him since Valentines Day, and I like to look good for him (which, FYI, doesn't make me any less of a feminist, thankyouverymuch). If you could even imagine how good he looks, then you'd understand why.

My dress is dark red, and feel free to ignore Kitty's comments about it being "in my boyfriend's favorite color." It's short, but not inappropriately so, hitting my mid-thighs and a few good inches below the curve of my ass. The tight material wraps in thick strips of fabric around my body, highlighting my curves and dipping a bit to show just a few inches of cleavage. Sure, a typical twenty something may be more apt to wear it at a bar than across a stage, but I look hot and I'm not apologizing for it.

Kitty gets up and moves behind me, smoothing my hair down into the tight French braid starting at the crown my head, my white tresses all mixed in with brunette. I'll admit, typically it's a little too formal of a style for me, but I needed something that would work with my cap.

I slip my feet into my well-loved brown cowboy boots. I'm more than aware that they don't match at all, but I don't care. I got them as a Christmas gift, and they're perfect. They might be my favorite thing ever.

Well, tied with my car, that is.

Oh and doughnuts.

Well, frankly there aren't many perfect things in the world, but there are a few. In case you didn't know, here they are: Remy LeBeau's abdominal muscles, spinach deep dish from Papa Tony's, my boots, my car, sprinkled doughnuts, and Christmas in Louisiana.

Oh, and public sex. What can I say, Remy's exhibitionist streak is finally starting to rub off (HA! literally) on me. It's not always perfect, I mean there was that night when a whole lot of New Yorkers may have seen my man's goods, but otherwise there have been some near-perfect experiences.

"So," Kitty's voice pulls me away from the gutter my mind was heading towards, "Is Remy meeting us before the ceremony?"

I shrug, "Ah'm not sure." Come to think about it, I don't know what Remy knows about today. I know he texted me at about 2am saying he was in town and lonely, and I told him (very regretfully) that I couldn't make it out because I had to wake up early for graduation day. (And yes, I do know a booty call when I see one, but I'd like to think that we're just a little bit above that term). Naturally, he texted back that he knew about my big day and had wanted to help me burn off some excitement. My pulse quickened, and then when he texted me again to say he was "so proud of me", then my heart melted a little.

There's just something about that man.

"You're not sure?" I see the little wrinkle in her forehead with a slight pout (a look I've become more than acquainted with).

"Ah - " I start to respond before Kitty has that intense squinty-eyed look on her face again, and she cuts me off.

"You didn't ask him, did you?" She huffs, and puts her hands on her hips. She is glaring at me in the mirror. She knows me too well and is well aware of it.

I try to give her a dirty look, but it falls a little short. She knows she's right.

Of course I didn't ask him. Why would I? I haven't seen the man in months, and yes, for all intents and purposes, we'll be living together starting tonight or tomorrow or next week or something, but we're not there yet.

Remy is fantastic, and I know I'm crazy about him, but we're not really the type to hang out with each other's families.

It's like I said before, there is exactly one thing we do really well - and family gatherings isn't it. I have the topography of his body memorized, and he has the same for me. We can communicate without words between the sheets, but that's the only place.

"Rogue," Kitty rolling her eyes, that freaking girl reads me like a book, "I get it, you're still worried about dating Remy."

I roll my eyes, "Ah'm not worried about dating Remy."

She clicks her tongue at me in that mother-hen way the she knows I absolutely hate, "I get that you're a college grad now," Her look softens a bit, "But you're not too smart for me. I know that you're deliberately misunderstanding me. Whatever you and Remy have - which normal people would call 'dating', but I'm sure as heck not going to try and label it for you - is a little unconventional around here. Not because you're dating a sex god, and that you two are screwing each other's brains out, but because Remy was against us at one point."

Oh, I'm sorry, did I not mention that before? Yeahhhhh, I can't give you too many details, but Remy and I were "enemies" at one point; different sides in the fight for mutants and all that.

And Kitty hit the nail on the head. I have plenty of self-confidence, and one of the things I hate is feeling insecure and looking like a whiney little bitch. I don't want to be the one who worries about how Remy and I look to others. I don't dwell on what people think; I'm a strong, independent woman, but of course I worry about what my family's opinion on who I'm dating/screwing/whatever. Who wouldn't worry about that? Especially after they just bought you a Camaro?

Kitty smiles, "Stop worrying about it, Rogue." Her goofy grin is coming back, "That was a long time ago, lady." She drops back onto my bed, "You're graduating from college. You're an adult, he's an adult; you just don't need to worry about those prejudices anymore. You have nothing to be afraid of."

I want to roll my eyes and tell Kitty that she's obnoxious and to stay out of my business, but the fact of the matter is, I'm glad she said it. I'm not used to feeling insecure, and I don't like it. She passes me my gown and I slip it over my just sexy enough dress. "Thanks, Kitty."

"Like, don't worry about it," She's smiling at me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised she has no qualms about me moving in with Remy. She's practically been his biggest cheerleader since he and I started running around together. It's either because she's mooning over his best friend, or that she's still in disbelief that he made me come 9 times in one night.

Oh whatever- like you and your girlfriends don't sit around and talk about sex.

Either way, that's a personal best and she's been rooting for the two of us since she heard that story. I believe her exact words were that "it'd be inhuman for me to give that up".

There's a knock on my door, and before I can answer, I hear Logan's voice, "Better hurry up, Stripes. You don't want to be late."

"Well be done in a few," Kitty chimes as we hear heavy footsteps moving away from my door.

She bounces off the bed, with my cap in hand. It's weird to see her hopping off the bed like that. It's just like the good old days.

In fact, we're in the room we used to share, back as high school students. Living together started out fairly unpleasant, but it laid the groundwork for a kind of begrudging acceptance of each other, and ultimately, friendship.

I lived away at college for about four years, but still returned to the Mansion over breaks (when I wasn't with Remy). My room was kept the same (thanks to Logan, I think), even thought I didn't occupy it most of the school year, and I never got another room mate after Kitty moved out. Now though? Well, there's a bunch of cardboard boxes half packed littered around the room. I actually packed up some things and had them shipped to Remy's new place. It's weird to think that there might be some new girls moving into our room after I leave.

I place my cap on my head and Kitty slips some bobby pins in my hair to hold it in place.

* * *

The arm around my neck drops down and his hand is back between my legs, finishing the job his hips nearly did. His fingers rub hard and quickly and I don't think I can take much more. His hips are moving fast and I match his speed, thrusting mine up to meet his.

I close my eyes and moan. I start to see stars beyond my eyelids as sweet relief hits me like a tidal wave. My head automatically falls backwards and I stifle a curse as it hits the concrete. Freaking haze of passion made me forget that Remy had just moved his arm.

His hips are hammering into me just as quickly, probably trying to reach his own release, and it just adds sensation to my wave of pleasure.

It feels euphoric.

"Fuuuuu-" Remy's curse dies on his lips as he thrusts up into me and presses me hard against the wall. Our hips are glued to each other now and he grinds against me, deeper than I thought possible. I feel his body sag slightly as orgasm hits him and he groans in happiness.

My legs are still wrapped around his body and I find my bodyweight resting on his upper thighs as he relaxes and slightly reclines his stance. His hips shift, and I feel slight emptiness at the loss of his manhood. His large hands find their way to my waist and he holds me up effortlessly, setting me solidly on the garage floor as he rights his posture.

He tucks his junk back into his briefs and zips his pants back up before looking at me. He breaks out into a wide grin. His large hand is behind my neck suddenly and he's pulling my lips against his. After a hard kiss, he's back to grinning at me and he runs his fingertips down my arm, "Mon dieu, chere."

I grin back, unable to stop myself. I feel a little tired obviously, but deliciously satisfied.

"Yo are amazin'," His wolfish grin catches me more off guard than I expect and I feel my heart skip a beat.

I grab the hem of my dress with my hands and smooth it back down to my mid-thighs where it belongs. I grimace a little bit; I'm not going to lie, unlike how it is in the movies, real sex is messy and I can feel that discomfort as my panties now feel wet and cold.

Remy looks at me sympathetically. He squats down in front of me and those warm hands of his are sliding up my legs and up my dress. My stomach drops in that jumpy feeling as his fingertips ghost over the top edge of my panties. He slides them slowly, sensuously down my legs and fists them in his right hand. I should be wiped out after that crazy exertion, but something about the way he's stripping me of my skivvies even though we just did it fully clothed is lighting my fuse again.

His left hand brings my wrist up to his lips and then stands completely and he brings it to his lips. They press hard against my pulse point as I watch him use his other hand to stuff my lacies into his back pocket.

Tilting his head down, he presses our foreheads together. I understand him in this moment, with a break in sexual tension (at least for a moment), it's finally possibly to think again. "Chere, I am so proud o' yo."

I'd like to say that his words didn't affect me, but I can feel a slight blush on my cheeks. In no way was I striving for Remy's approval or pride, but it warms something in me to know that I have it. "Thanks, Cajun," I dawl back at him, before pressing my lips against his in another soft, deep kiss.

As the kiss ends, he draws away from me a bit and I recognize the look on his face, it's an almost lazy kind of happiness. The expression usually makes its way to his face directly after sex.

Before I know it, he's scooping me up in his arms, placing one beneath my knees and the other behind my shoulder blades.

A giggle escapes my lips, completely on accident, and I try unsuccessfully to turn it into a scowl. If I'm not drinking, then I shouldn't be giggling.

Remy grins and, carrying me, walks over to the door which I assume connects us to the rest of the house, "Welcome t' yo new home, Chere."

We cross the threshold into the kitchen, and I give him a smile in response, even though I'm too busy enjoying my post orgasm buzz.

What am I supposed to say here? Something like, 'Remy, I actually don't need a tour of our new house. I visited it two months ago.'

Things used to be so much easier when I was just using him for sex.

His foot kicks the door shut and as we're further into the kitchen he sets me down on the kitchen table, just so he can kiss me again. Without realizing it, my legs automatically wrap around his waist as he steps in between my thighs. His warm hand is tightly wrapping around the back of my neck, holding my lips hostage against the onslaught of his lips, mouth and tongue.

Hell. I take back what I said. It doesn't matter. As long as there has been air in my lungs, I've been in love with him.

He pulls back and he's breathing heavy. His palms move to lay flat on the table on either side of my hips, it causes him to tilt his head down and press his forehead again mine. He nips at my bottom lip, and then brushes his lips against mine so gently that it makes me pause.

He's kissing me softly on the cheek, nuzzling his nose against my face. His actions are saying the words that his voice hasn't.

Frankly, to be honest, the tenderness is unexpected so I'm a bit surprised.

I mean, I've seen the tender side of him before, but it was after all the dirty stuff. It usually happens after a few rounds when he wakes me up in the middle of the night by kissing my hair and stroking up and down my body. Then he's all soft and tender.

Hm. Interesting.

Does moving in together mean we're supposed to be all lovey dovey all the time or something?

This isn't sex right now, this isn't any "F" words, this is. . .Well, this is a different four letter word.

Is it rude if I stop to remind him that I like it rough? Or at least right now? Kinda seems like bad manners. But since when is honesty a bad idea? I mean, it's been like a year since I've had rug burn on my back and knees, and even longer since I've had a hand shaped mark on my ass.

* * *

I use my hands to adjust my cap slightly, to make sure it's secure. I mean, sure Kitty put the bobby pins in before we left the Mansion, but who knows if they're in right. Okay, okay, I get it, I'm a bit nervous and that why I can't stop playing with this awful mortar board that matches the equally as awful gown.

The school administrators are slowly herding us into groups organized by our last names. I look for the 'H' group; since Logan adopted me, I've officially been a Howlett for a few years now. Yeah, they read our official names off while we cross the stage. I'm not worried though; people may hear "Anna Marie", but I'll always be Rogue and my family knows it.

"Okay," the administrator indicates where the line should start, "If your last name begins with the letter 'C', please move over here."

"Hey!" I let out a surprised squeak as I feel an arm sneak around my waist from behind. That arm pulls me to the side of the bleachers, and out of sight.

I have a moment to think that making out behind bleachers is such a high school cliché, even though I'm about to graduate college. A grin takes over my face as I find myself in the arms of Remy LeBeau. I start to laugh.

As the laughter bubbles up in my chest, I barely have a chance to let it escape, before he's dramatically dipping me backwards and pressing a hot kiss to my lips. He rights me back on my feet, and his grin matches my own.

He's all ready walking away from me, but our hands are still connected. He brings my knuckles to his lips, and he lets go while I feel breathless.

He turns his head to call over his shoulder, "Un baiser pour la bonne chance*, mon Cherie."

My heart is beating a bit too fast as I take the few steps back to the group of lemmings in matching gowns.

I hear a low whistle and turn to the girl standing next to me. Apparently we weren't quite as out of sight as I thought. The girl's eyebrows lift, impressed.

Of course she's impressed. I'm dating a sex god; who wouldn't be impressed?

"Wow," Her New York accent drawls, "Some boyfriend you got there."

The sensory memory of his lips against mine, leaves me smiling, and I nod and agree with her words as we head off to our respective alphabetized spots.

I'm excited that Remy showed up. I'm not going to giggle and titter like some little school girl or something, but I am happy he's here. Part of me wonders if my family has noticed him, but I brush that off. Kitty will handle it, I'm sure. I'm not used to being the center of attention like this, with all my family around. I shouldn't be surprised so many of them came out to see me today; I'm sure they're happy that I'm finally graduating.

It takes a second for me to realize what I just agreed with. It takes me back to the question that my mind has been circling for the last couple of months. Boyfriend? Yeah, I guess that sounds right.

Not that it really matters.

Whatever we are, it works.

* * *

Giving me an easy smile, he steps away while I'm still sitting on the table. I watch him watch to the fridge, take out what looks like a bottle of champagne, and then take out two matching flutes from a cabinet.

Pouring the drinks, he hands one to me and keeps the other for himself.

"Rogue," he says my name gently and I know he's read me like a book. He can tell I've been questioning something. He always knows what I'm thinking, and I wonder if he shares my concerns. He smiles, "Relax, Chere. Yo got n'ting t' worry 'bout."

Let's be honest. Yes, I have questions about the whole house situation and the most polite way to ask him to nail me so hard that I can't walk tomorrow, but the thing I'm most worried about right now is how can I get him naked, photograph it, and make it my iPhone background.

Obviously I should be worried about this because I don't even have my phone on me. Despite being my goal for months, clearly it's impossible right now.

"I haven't changed. Don't worry 'bout dat." He looks relaxed as he takes a long drink.

Okay, so maybe he's called me out on a little bit more than I was ready to admit it. Yeah, I was worried this whole moving in thing would be a giant deal and change us. I was worried about more than a lack of rough sex. What of it?

I watch his lean, hard body step towards me as I take a drink of my own.

"Yo' are still yo'." He's stepping back in between my legs after taking a long sip of champagne. His head tilts down, placing his lips by my ear, and he's whispering, "Yo' still de hottest ting dis Cajun has ever seen. Yo' still wearin' dat dress lookin' sexy as hell."

I feel his tongue drag along the shell of my ear as my breath hitches and body temperature rises.

Leave it to Remy to make an awkward situation as hot as humanly possible. He's good at that.

Other things he is good at include: getting drunk, getting on my nerves, jacking off, staring lovingly at his reflection, grilling steak, and flexing his biceps.

As if I didn't know what he was thinking, I feel a large warm hand on my thigh, where my dress has ridden up and it skin on skin. His voice drops a bit to that husky, melted chocolate timbre that always gets me, "An', yo' still not wearin' anyting under it."

Suddenly I feel hot and parched, and I find myself downing the rest of my chilled drink. Despite the fact that champagne isn't my favorite, the bubbles in the back of my throat feel refreshing as I feel my skin flush.

He doesn't waste any time in refilling my glass. Part of me wonders if he's trying to get me drunk. If he is, then I'm clearly not doing my part. I take another long sip, enjoying the way that his eyes are glued to my throat as I drink and swallow.

Spoiler alert: Remy loves anything that involves swallowing.

He takes a drink of his own before our lips are meeting again, in a powerful burst of heat. I can feel his tongue against mine and his bottom lip against my teeth. I feel his hand gently touch the side of my face before digging into my hair, his fingers gripping me tightly.

I'm sure that's about it for my French braid.

His sure grip forces my head to tilt to the side and I feel his lips press against the side of my mouth with a bruising force. His stubble roughly rubs against my chin and I can feel a bit of burn from it.

I love it when he's aggressive.

His other hand is on the outside of my thigh, traveling north rather quickly. I can feel the pads of his fingers slip under the hem of my dress until they're up at my hip, gripping too hard to be gentle.

I feel excitement start to build. Yeah, sure I just got off in the garage not even fifteen minutes ago, but a girl needs to be able to go for much longer to keep up with a man like Remy LeBeau.

Seriously. You'd be impressed.

I'm all ready breathing heavy. That's what happens when you know your lover. That's what happens when you know what's coming (Heh heh). Sure there's the physical build up of the way that calloused hand is trailing fingers down past my hip bone, but the excitement also comes from the fact that this man knows the ways to make me beg and scream so intimately that he could do it with just a whisper of his lips and fingertips against my heated skin.

Damn, I make it sound romantic.

What it really is, is pure unadulterated, unbridled, uncontained passion setting fire to my every nerve ending and pressure point that has had the fortunate chance to have been graced by his unmatched, unbelievable, hotter than hell sweet pair of soft lips.

I could get drunk off of him.

His kisses make me feel hot and dizzy at the same time.

As the heat within me increases, I find myself downing my second glass of bubbly. I should probably be concerned that I just had two glasses of booze fairly quickly and I haven't eaten recently, but I'm not.

Remy refills my glass quickly with his one free hang and I take another drink. I giggle and I know the champagne is going to my head. But really, I won't be driving tonight which just means that I'm not concerned at all.

All that matters right now is the feeling of Remy's tongue dragging down my neck to that extra sensitive spot near my collarbone.

I gasp for air as I feel the hand that's up my dress, slide around to the inside of my hip. I can literally feel my man smirk as his fingers trail lower, all teasing and shit.

I dig my fingers into his hair, pressing his head against me and his teeth into my heated skin. With a groan, I fist his long hair in my hands and hold it tight. He's just dragged two of his fingertips down my abdomen and even closer to where I need him. Those fingers drag through my perfect manicured strip of hair.

I close my eyes at the sensation and lower my forehead so it's resting against the skin of his shoulder. For a minute, I can smell the sweat on his skin and I'm hit with an overwhelming urge to rub my tongue over every once of his body and taste the saltiness of it.

He only teases me for a second, and without any warning, he buries those fingers deep inside me.

I gasp and my head thrashes against his shoulder. I try to move backwards, maybe to lie against the table, but he won't let me.

There's an arm around my back holding me exactly where I am, with my legs hanging off the table and two fingers pumping deep inside me. He's not gentle and I love it.

I just realized that I'm pulling his hair.

I feel a slight burn on my neck, as the stubble roughly pulls across it. I feel how hard he's sucking on my neck, so hard there'll be a mark tomorrow, so hard there's a bit of pain and it feels wonderful. It causes me to gasp and I feel my hips rocking forcefully into the powerful hand that's about to make me climax all over again.

* * *

You'd think walking across the stage would be a bigger deal, but that's literally all it is.

Really. I just walked on the stage, shook a hand, nabbed my diploma, moves my tassel over, and exited the other side of the stage. Whatever, I'm damn proud of myself.

I did however hear a loud whooping after i said my name, which I could only attribute to Kitty, Jubilee, and Scott.

I wait until all the graduates have crossed and watch as they throw their caps into the air. I'm not risking my classy hair by pulling off my cap. I'd much rather leave it to Remy to muss it up.

My family somehow manages to find me in a sea of graduation gowns. If we were just normal people, you might wonder how they found me so quickly, but we're not like that.

Logan throws a loose arm over my shoulder, and gives me sort of a half smile. His gruff voice is uncharacteristically warm, "Way to go, Stripes."

I hear a loud sequel and Kitty literally puts her as through Logan (don't ask) to hug me, "Aw, Rogue! I knew you could do it."

As Logan and Kitty release me, Scott, who you don't know but is like a brother to me, wraps a warm hand around my shoulder, "Congratulations, Rogue."

Piotr stands close to Kitty, but he's freaking beaming at me.

Sure, this gown looks ridiculous, but having all my nearest and dearest out to support me is pretty cool.

Also cool: polar bears and ice cubes.

I'm not gonna lie, I love the attention. I've made some trouble in my younger days (some of it involving Remy), and its nice to have my whole family here and proud of my accomplishments. At risk of sounding too mushy, it feels nice.

As Scott drops his hand, I turn my head to the opposite direction.

Hot damn.

Remy is walking towards us, a delectable mix of class and devil-may-care. I really didn't get a chance to look at him when he stole that kiss earlier, so I take the opportunity now.

And, man oh man, does he look good.

If I wasn't so worried about losing the diploma I just finally received, I might just strip down and jump him right in the middle of this football field.

His hair is pulled back tightly. I'm sure it's in a low pony tail; that's really all he can do with it. It's just long enough to rubber band at the nape of his neck. I know he prefers to have it out of his face, but I love when it's down and I can bury my fingers in it.

He's got on a gray dress shirt that looks to be tailored precisely to his lean, built body. It pulls oh so slightly across his chest, as he strides toward us; probably just to tease me with the look of his broad shoulders and firm pectorals.

His black dress pants also fit him perfectly. Although, I'm less concerned with the perfectly pressed pleats as I am what's in those pants.

I'm sure his tailor enjoys that job. _'Oh Mr. LeBeau, you need these pants adjusted so your junk will be comfortable? I can do that for you_.'

I'm not being sarcastic at all. I would love that job.

Like, '_Here, Mr. LeBeau, let me just get my measuring tape right up in here to measure. Oh my, what a big package you have! I think we'll need to let out this hem a few inches. You know, I'm very good at measuring with my mouth. Why don't you just take these off and I can do it for you right now...'_

...What?

Oh, right. Mr. Sex himself is heading right towards us looking damn near perfect.

Along with his dress pants and shirt, in a move I'm confident only he could pull off, is a short black leather jacket and his favorite motorcycle boots.

I'm sure you'd think that that would never work, but much like ranch dressing and cheese pizza, Remy has made a perfect match.

He grins at me as he approaches everyone. I'm trying to think of something to say, but all I can think of is the one thing I want that body to do to me right now.

He slides his arm around my waist and tilts his head down to press a kiss to my cheek. His other arm passes me a bouquet of yellow tulips. (Yeah, yeah I was too busy ogling to notice he was carrying flowers. What of it?) His voice is jubilant, "Congrats, Cherie!" I feel a teasing hand poke my side, "'S 'bout time, non?"

"I'll say!" Kitty, of course, chimes in.

I watch Logan's eyes narrow as he looks as Remy.

To break it down to basics, my father-figure isn't the biggest fan of my Cajun.

Granted, he's had about a month and a half to get used to the idea of our future co-habitation, but I think he could've used, oh I don't know, a good five or six years.

Logan had an idea that Remy and I had causally dated in the past, and I always kind of left it at that. I guess he would have taken the news better if he knew Remy and I had being seeing each other lately.

On the other hand, I don't picture telling Logan that I let Remy nail me on Christmas Eve and Valentines day would end in a very positive way.

Heh. When I mentioned the fact that Remy LeBeau bought us a house, Logan's eyes just about popped out of his head. It was two parts hilarious and three parts nerve wracking.

Logan shifts his heavy body weight so he's leaning into Remy's personal space. He fists the collar of Remy's leather jacket and gives my man a very dark and menacing look.

Well, I did ask him not to say anything rude.

Despite not saying words, Logan's warning is clear (something along the lines of 'hurt her and I hurt you') and Remy nods in response.

Ready to diffuse the tense moment on my happy occasion, I smile at the group surrounding us. "Thanks so much for coming, but Ah think we're gonna blow this Popsicle stand."

Remy smiles at me and gives Logan a cheeky grin (which I'm sure he hates), "Always nice t' see yo' 'gain, Monsieur Claws."

Kitty giggles. Of course she does. She hands me my purse that she had been holding onto during the ceremony.

"Chere?" The arm around my waist tightens slightly, "After yo'."

I hand my tulips to Kitty after she agrees to put them in water for me back at the mansion. Sure, I may be moving in with Remy but I still have a handful of boxes that need to be packed up.

* * *

I wonder how Remy would feel if I told him I'm secretly worried he's an octopus.

Yes, I'm aware of how it sounds.

But, frankly, sometimes that man is just ALL hands. I don't understand where they're all coming from.

I gasp as Remy grinds his covered erection against me. He's still got those damn dress pants on, and they feel so soft against me. I'm sure he's aware of this. He's the one that still hasn't given me back my delicates.

He slowly rotates his hips around, against me, and burning me from the inside out.

I'm silently appreciative that my lover was kind enough to have soft, plush carpet placed on our living room floor. I don't know if his first thought was that we'd be having sex on the floor near the fireplace (it probably was), but it was nice of him to make it so accommodating.

After he worked me off with his hand in the kitchen, he reached around me and unzipped my dress. After quickly pulling it off my body (and leaving it on the kitchen floor, no doubt), he picked me up again (probably because my limbs felt like they were made of noodles), and somehow deposited me on the living room floor.

He wasted no time in crawling on top of my body and bringing his hardness against me.

As if it was completely obvious what he wanted.

I'll tell you one thing though; he's doing all the work this time. Seriously, I just came twice in like that last 45 minutes. I'm exhausted.

Remy, on the other hand, has the stamina of a racehorse.

I pull out (heh) of my thoughts as a large hand cups my breast. He's pinching my nipple. I always tell him I don't like that, but the reality is that's not true, it's just so damn intense. It's like every time he does that, it goes straight to between my legs. It gets me wet.

And sometimes he'll be doing it out in public or where other people are around and it gets me so hot; one time I literally started riding his leg while he was sitting on a barstool, and there were other people around, and I'm pretty sure everyone in that bar saw me ride that thigh until I got myself off.

So embarrassing, but I sure as hell needed relief and Remy, that complete asshole, totally knew it.

He pinches my nipple hard, one last time, and then moves to sit back on his haunches, straddling my wanting body. I watch appreciatively as his muscular arms push off his dress shirt, then reach above his head and slowly pulls his undershirt upwards. Inch after inch of tanned, toned abdominal muscles are revealed to me and I fight the itching need in my fingers to rake my nails across the cuts between his muscles. He adds one quick rotation of his hips so that he's grinding into me.

You might feel like you know Remy, but trust me, it's almost impossible to imagine his body without seeing it. It's that perfect.

I watch as more and more of that scarred, beautiful skin is revealed to me and I find myself wetting my lips with my tongue. The more I see, the hotter it seems to get in the room, which is saying something because I'm completely naked.

So what? I have a little kink for stripping. Something about getting to see clothes removed from that gorgeous body just does it for me. Guys go see strippers all the time. If I want to enjoy my man taking off his clothes in the privacy of our own living room, then you bet I'm gonna. What of it?

And there are much weirder kinks out there. Trust me. Shit, Kitty told me that she secretly was Pete to use his mutation during sex (Sorry, can't give you details, but lets just say that I think it might not be the best idea. Sure, it sounds hot, but metal has a lot less give than human flesh.) Remy likes to spank (and I like to be spanked so two points for that working out), and I have a fantasy of being sandwiched between two men. Those are way dirtier than the fact that I like to watch Remy take off his clothes.

Which, again, that asshole has totally used that against at the most inappropriate times. There are dressing rooms in stores for a reason. He didn't have to remove his shirt in the middle of the store. Although, I guess it worked out because he and I ended up using to dressing room for something, if you know what I mean.

I moan out loud as I get a look at his nipples, which I know like attention as much as mine. His body leans back In a slight stretch as he pulls the shirt off of his head and he's finally half naked. He smirks, knowing exactly what he's doing to me, and embarrassingly enough, i find myself panting.

It doesn't matter that we've been fooling around for the better part of an hour. Remy always knows how to get me going. And, with a man like him, I can only hope to keep up.

My eyes drop down to a thin, shiny line that draws around his left hip bone and disappears into the waistband of his pants. That neatly made scar is one of my favorites. It's part of the roadmap that is Remy and I've followed it with my tongue so many times in the past. Remy's whole body, and his chest especially, are a variable patchwork of scars and other marks. He told me about them once, about his past. I can't share the details with you, but I can tell you one thing. The scars don't mar his physical appearance, they add to it, and you really have got to admire a guy with the tenacity to recover from those scars and still come out on top.

As he drops his shirt onto the carpet, I reach my hands out in front of me, with one purpose on my mind. I unbutton and unzip his pants, wondering how quickly I can get them off him.

It doesn't take long. He stands up and wiggles his hips slightly to let his pants join the shirt. Standing over me in just his briefs is incredibly hot.

But I'm also incredibly impatient. (It's one of my more charming personality traits, I think.)

I point to his gray boxer briefs and command, "Off."

He chuckles, no doubt amused that I'm the one giving commands when I'm all ready well on my way to exhaustion, but he complies anyway.

He winks, "Anyting fo' yo', chere."

I watch as he hooks him thumbs into the elastic band at the top, and slowly slides them down. Looking at how hard he is, I'm sure they couldn't have been too comfortable. As soon as they join the rest of the clothes on the floor, he's back on top of me, with his body completely covering my own.

I bend my knees and my legs find their way on either side of my body. His presses his lower body into mine, and I can feel how much he wants this. I love it.

That's correct, ladies: You should always appreciate your Man's hard-on. It's kind of like a compliment.

"Ready?" He's smirking at me with that smug look in his eyes that he's know I hate. His confidence can be very sexy, but sometimes the fact that he knows I'm always ready for him makes him a little too smug.

That's why you've gotta make a guy work for it every once and a while.

I know, I know, Remy doesn't have to work for it now, but that's because I'm still riding high from the last two orgasms I had. I will gladly take a third. Don't worry, I'll get him next time.

I lean up to press my lips against his as he pinches a nipple. I moan and he knows I'm more than ready.

I watch his hand move down to position himself and then, after a brief moment, I feel the satisfying fullness that is only Remy LeBeau.

In one, deep thrust he buries himself completely.

I suck in a deep breath. He's so big.

"Merde," He curses and he rotates his hips just so I moan.

I close my eyes and find my hands gripping his strong, broad shoulders. I feel him set a slightly fast pace, thrusting in and out of me. I do my best to raise my hips up to meet his, but I all ready told you guys that he's gonna have to do all the work.

It amazes me, the stamina that he has. I know you're thinking that he didn't last long in the garage, but that was the last three months of sexual tension built up. I could've easily dry humped the guy and got off within minutes. Hell, if that road to the house hasn't been paved, I'm pretty sure the rumble of his motorcycle between my legs and my body against him would've done it.

Sometimes, I think we just want each other so badly that it makes the sex quick. You can't try to slow passion like that.

This, though? Right now? I tilt my head to the side and feel delicate, delicious little love bites on my neck. This is going to last much longer. Now the he all ready climaxed once, it's taken the edge off.

He's going to have me screaming two or three times before he finishes. Trust me, I know from experience.

And my hips will hurt like hell in the morning.

I feel a large hand reach around my body and squeeze my ass tightly, not letting go.

Whatever. It's so worth it.

* * *

I follow Remy towards the parking lot, his arm still wrapped around my waist. There's hundreds of other in matching gowns all over campus. I'm not trying to brag, but no one else seems to have a date as sexy as mine.

He looks down at me every few seconds and smiles. I guess he's as happy to see me as I am to see him.

"The tulips were great, yah know." I can't help but thank him. It was a really sweet gesture, even if I'm not going to say those exact words.

"'S n'ting, chere. Jus' happy fo' yo' is all." And he is happy, I can tell.

"Oh, and thanks for not starin' anything with Logan. Ah told him not to say anything rude to yah, but Ah'm pleasantly surprised that yah behaved yahself."

He laughs and gives me a smirk, "Moi? Chere, I tink I can behave myself if I need to."

I cock my eyebrow in disbelief and I find myself somehow laughing with him.

You know, I'm just happy. I'm a graduate, my favorite Swamp Rat is back in town, and I have a new house. All in all, not a bad gig.

We stop next to Remy's bike, easily recognizable with the flames and playing cards painted on the side. There's two helmets rest on the seat, and he releases my waist to lift the smaller one and offer it to me.

Naturally, this cap and gown have to go. I pull out the pins in my hair and remove the cap.

I watch Remy's eyes slowly look hungrily up and down my body as I unzip my gown and slide it off of my shoulders. The way he's looking at me makes me feel like I've removed more clothes than just my gown. I give myself an A+ for my outfit choice. His red eyes focus on my legs, hips, cleavage, and eventually back to me eyes.

I stuff my purse, gown, and cap into one of the saddlebags of his bike.

I watch him pull my old leather jacket out of the other saddlebag. Huh. I didn't even know he still had it. "Dere's no way yo' can ride a bike like dat," he pauses and his eyes do that sexy look up-and-down my body again, "But fo some reason, I really don' want yo' t' put anyting on over dat dress."

I can't help but laugh. We can never stay very fun and playful for long. I think, even if we tried, it would always go back to sex. I wink at him, "Don't worry, sugah, later yah might get to see meh in even less."

He looks a bit offended, "Might get t'?!"

Yeahhhh, as if there was any doubt.

I know what you're thinking. Really, I do. You think that all Remy and I do is have sex. You think it's what our "relationship" is built around, and that's all we have together.

I'm not gonna lie, I would let that man screw me every minute of every day, if possible.

But think about it like this: what if you and your partner were really good at playing tennis. You guys would play tennis all the time, every day. It's "your thing." Maybe you'd even be a tennis instructor.

That's totally normal, and we're totally normal. We're just playing with each other instead of playing tennis.

Remy slides my worn jack onto my shoulders, and makes sure to run a strong hand down my body. Man, it feels good. I missed those hands.

I feel a brief whisper of his warms lips against my neck before he steps back and hands me the helmet.

"Ready t' go home, cherie?"

My insides feel warm as I watch him mount the bike, and he winks at me before pulling down the visor of his helmet.

My heart skips a beat as I hop on behind him.

* * *

I stretch my arms above my head and open my eyes slowly. Moving in with Remy is clearly the best decision I've ever made if I can judge by the comfyness of the mattress.

Shit, it's like I'm sleeping on a cloud. I roll to my side to look over Remy's side of the bed, and I can feel all sorts of muscles scream out at me. My back hurts, not doubt from the garage wall, and my hips hurt, probably from our moment on the living room floor before Remy dragged me upstairs into our new bedroom. I can feel how bruised my lips are, probably from when Remy passionately kissed me as we fell into our new bed. He kissed my lips until they bruised, and then we fell asleep wrapped in each other's naked bodies.

Damn.

Looking at the alarm clock, I'm surprised I slept this late. But hey, after graduating and being ravaged all night, I'm pretty sure I deserved to sleep in.

Remy's not in the room, but I inhale and the sheets still smell just like him. The mix of spices and sandalwood is nearly intoxicating.

I could bottle that, sell it, and get rich.

But, on the other hand, male prostitutes would go poor because they'd spend all their money on eau de LeBeau.

Either way, I head into the attached bathroom. It's like his bathroom back in his New York apartment, with glossy white subway tile and Asian inspired décor. Needing to wake, I turn on the tap and hop in the shower once the room starts to steam up.

I'm not surprised to find my magnolia scented body wash and shampoo on the shelf in the back, and I quickly lather it into my hair. I quickly wash my body as well, enjoying the heat on my sore muscles.

As I step out onto the bathmat, I grab a towel and dry off. In tradition of how our mornings used to go, I look for a set of clothes on the counter. I fight the urge to roll my eyes when I'm greeted with the sight of a fire engine red teddy and matching thong.

HA. So not happening, Remy. Maybe after lunch?

I brush my teeth and hair before heading out to the bedroom.

I told you that I had all ready shipped some of my boxes to the new place. It looks like Remy must have been thoughtful enough to put them away.

Our bedroom has two small walk and closets – all his and hers and shit. I open the one on the left first and see expensive dress shirts hung in color order, and perfectly pressed. It continues with his suits too.

Not at all interested in Remy's OCD, I open the closet on the right. I roll my eyes. The whole right side is filled with expensive lingerie, all with new tags. I'm surprised, but I guess I really shouldn't be. It's the tennis metaphor you guys. It's like if you really liked wearing tank tops when you played. . . Remy just likes for me to wear some very fancy things in our game. That's about all there is in my closet, believe it or not.

I head to dresser in the room, and find that all the drawers on one side have my normal clothes in them. I find my favorite sports bra, and pull it on with some cotton panties, and running shorts. Assuming that Remy is working out, I figure I should dress to join him.

Is that what co-habitating people do? Work out together. How sweet.

I randomly started looking though other stuff in the room, making sure to nose through all of Remy's stuff. Most of my stuff has been unpacked and place in our room. I find all my favorite t-shirts folded and placed in the bottom dresser drawer, and all my sex toys in the drawer of the nightstand on 'my' side of the bed.

I laugh. There's also a nude photo of Remy in there, no doubt placed there by my Cajun for "inspiration".

There's an 8x10" frame next to the lamp on his nightstand. It's a rather good-looking glossy of me, no doubt copied from the photobook I had given him for a Christmas gift. The Rogue in the photo is facing a window, but looking back over her shoulder at the camera. Naturally, all I'm wearing in that shot is a pair of black lace panties, black garters, and black fishnet stockings. Yeah, I'm one classy lady.

My purse is sitting on my nightstand and I assume Remy must have put it there early this morning or late last night. I pull my packet of birth control out of the side pocket and quickly swallow the 'Saturday' pill.

I head downstairs to find Remy, glancing quickly to see all the rooms have been furnished since I last visited. I stick my head in the office, to find it empty. It has a large desk in the middle, with a number of papers (and what look to be blueprints) spread out on it. It seems like Remy has actually been working in here.

The door to the basement is open, and I head that way. I find him in the 'gym' side of the room, kick boxing with a heavy bag. I watch with interest as that long, strong, tree-trunk of a leg launches upwards and lands a kick on the side of the bag.

Damn, he is gorgeous.

"Mornin' sugah," I drawl at the nearly perfect specimen in front of me. He turns around, dressed only in sweat and his basketball shorts.

"Mornin'." He's smiling and immediately walks towards me. He kisses my cheek and I can feel heat radiating off of his skin. "Been waitin' fo' yo' t' wake up."

"Why? Did Ah make breakfast?"

"Of course not," he shakes his head, "An' I got a surprise fo' yo'."

"Surprise?" I squeal as I get excited, "Ah love surprises!"

"I know." He's grinning and I watch as he quickly towels the sweat off of those perfectly sculpted pectorals.

He grabs my hand as he pulls me back up the stairs.

As he pulls me through the living room, I can't help but notice all the light streaming through the windows and Remy's clothes from last night on the floor. He pulls me through the kitchen towards the door we had entered last night.

This better be one good surprise, because I don't know how else he's gonna top buying us a house.

He leads us into the garage, and he reaches over to the light switch to turn on all the lights.

My mouth drops and he's watching my face, looking for my reaction.

"Remy, this is, this is. . ." I can't even find the words.

Last night, the garage was dark so I couldn't see how large it is. I couldn't see much besides the part closest to the house, but it turns out the garage is at least four times that size. I was right about the concrete having some time of coating, because it does, just like a commercial garage. The whole far side is set up like an autoworker's paradise. There's a long workbench lined with any tool I would ever need. Another shelf is full with different containers of grease and motor oil and happiness.

The walls are lined with framed poster sized images of my favorite vintage cars. The posters of the new cars have scantily clad women lying all over the cars, just like in my favorite auto magazines.

My home garage is nicer than some of the places I've worked.

I turn to look at him, barely able to tear my eyes away from the beautiful sight in front of me. I still have no words.

He shrugs, but is clearly proud of himself, "Jus' figured a girl wit a new shiny degree in automotive technology an' one in business would need a place t' do her work."

Saying thanks doesn't seem like enough, so I do what my body is telling me to. I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him as deeply as I can.

He turns his whole body towards me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me even closer to his body.

He tilts his head down and rests his forehead against mine.

I kiss him again, "Ah love it!"

His arms tighten around my waist, "I love yo.'"

* * *

*A kiss for good luck (according to an internet translator)

There it is! I hope you all enjoyed it! I know these are all "holiday centric", but I figured gradution day was close enough.

This is the end to this little mini arc of stories. I am considering a companion piece from Remy's POV, but I'm not sure when it will happen. I have no ideas for it yet, but it seemed like it might be a fun thing to do.

Reviews = Love


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